The hill in grey
by jennygiraffadil
Summary: The war is over and Voldemort is finally gone. It broke more than hearts. It broke boys. And Ron doesn't think it was worth it.


**The hill in grey  
**_+ somewhere alone in the bitterness._****

_by littlelesslostboys._

**DISCLAIMER: I wish. **_  
Harry Potter/Ron Weasley.  
_---------------------------------------

On the day the war finally ended it was raining, which, Ron thought, was oddly fitting to the morose mood that settled like a storm cloud. Damp grass, dark skies - and, of course, death. All those months - those _years_ - of preparation and it was over, all of it was over. He was breathing, barely, and he was cut to hell, but it was over. His first and foremost thought was that he didn't have to fight anymore - after Harry, of course. The grass beneath him was damp, the water rushing over the hillside and settling into a crevice on the hard concrete path way below. And it was still over. His lungs were beating fervently with sharp gasps and his heart was pounding. 

Hermione was off, already, engaging in the clearup. And the memorials that had to be planned. Harry was sitting right next to him. He could see his eyes, rubbed raw and hit heavily by jinx after jinx, his hair hanging lank in front of them. Hands combing through the blades of grass, and he was alive. Ron felt a grin tear across his face at that - _he was alive._

"Looks like it's finally over" he said softly, under his breath, almost unable to believe it. He needed to say it outloud, he needed someone else to confirm it too, he needed -- he needed to make it true.

But Harry just sat there and nodded. His head lolling forwards before craning to the side. He fell backwards just as Ron caught him. 

"Sorry," Harry muttered, over and over, "I didn't think I --"

"You did fantastic," Ron interrupted, rubbing his shoulders soothingly, "You did better than that. You -- We -- I -- it's over. It really is over, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, his hands trying to grip onto Ron, "Yeah. It is."

There wasn't a single person around for the miles that stretched in front of them. And it didn't matter to Ron, nothing mattered, how or why or what - the details that clouded his mind with flashes of green and red and orange. They'd survived, something none of them had expected. His arms folded Harry tighter to him, and he smiled. Watching the sun bleed grey over the hills.

"We have to rebuild," Harry whispered, and Ron nodded idly against his hair, "We have to fix it all. Fix everything we broke. Everyone. They all lost so much, Ron."

"But they gained even more," he replied, feeling the shaking bones quivering up his arms until he turned Harry's head towards his own, "They have a life without worry. They don't have to think about the 'what if' or be suspicious of everyone. They can live instead of just surviving, and it's all thanks to you. You're a hero, you know. The Prophet got it right for once."

The smile that Ron was so used to seeing, curving at the corners of Harry's lips, infectiously, only appeared barely before cheek bones settled against his neck.

"We can -- I mean -- do you think now it's over -- you can be happy, you know. And not just that 'for show' kind either. You can be really happy now. You deserve it more than anyone. I -- if you want -- Ginny?" Ron knew he wasn't making much sense but his mouth run on before he could stop it. Muttering and cursing and bellowing as loud as he could. As loud as he wanted. But Harry remained despondant.

"You could," Ron said, pushing him, rubbing a hand against the bloody stains on his shirt, amazed at the scar free skin beneath. His voice dropped an octave and his whispers ruffled the hair at the back of Harry's neck. They both shivered. The dampness soaked through their jeans. "Or Hermione. Or -- or Cho? I know it was awkward but -- you don't even have to have anyone. You can go just -- just be Harry."

Ron bit his lip at the silence that met him. The words kept it alive. The words kept it going. His knuckles turned white as he clung to Harry, the deep red gashes running through his hands reminding him of everything they'd risked. Everyone they'd risked. And every single life that they'd saved. He hadn't wanted them healed. He'd refused, even when Hermione had took him in her arms and tried to force the spells on him, he'd spluttered and pushed at her until she sighed and helped him up. He'd wanted the reminder, just incase, he'd wanted to remember being something great. Even if it did end up in destruction.

"I wonder if we'll see the same emptiness when the world is fixed," he mused idly, resting back and pulling Harry with him to lay against his chest. It had affected him the most, Ron thought, Ron _knew_. But, then again, he'd always known. Harry wasn't a killer. Harry was just -- just Harry. Even at his worst, eyes blazing and wand brandished like a sword, swearing revenge. Ron just knew. So he promised to help him, to get whoever it was, wherever they were, to seek them out. Even facing down Voldermort Harry hadn't been able to kill him directly. And that's why, he knew, the moment he had fallen Harry's whole world had been shaken up. So he held him tighter. And Harry went limp in his arms. Ron held onto his hands and stared blankly at the sky.

"I want you," Harry had whispered, the first thing in as many hours, and Ron almost jumped before a smile hit his lips. He ruffled Harry's hair with a kiss.

"I want you too," he said against Harry's ear, tickling the skin, "but not yet, not now. When -- when you -- we have time, Harry. We have time now."

"No we don't," Harry mumbled, suddenly, immediately, startling Ron into sitting up, uncomfortable muscles arching in his back, "We don't have time," he said, "You don't. I don't. We -- you know this -- us. Can't. Just look Ron. _Just look._ I love you." 

Ron closed his eyes to the ring of Hermione's voice. When he opened them again, his arms were holding empty shadows on a hill that would never mean the same. The war was over, but all Ron could think about was that it wasn't worth it, after all.


End file.
